Our life, like many, can get a little crazy. I spend too much time trying to figure out a way to balance it all to ensure we all enjoy some down time every once in a while. I have learned that in order for things to slow down, I need to start saying "No."

We finally said "No" this weekend. Instead of joining our neighborhood at the circus and at an indoor gymnastics facility or attending yet another fundraiser, we said, "No."

It left us with a lovely, peaceful weekend full of time at home doing nothing, really. We carved pumpkins, made cookies and played Monopoly for hours upon hours. It was perfect. And it convinced me that I need to start saying No more often.

A Photo Shoot

Brennan's First Field Trip

Today was a big day for our Brennan. He had his first ever field trip to a local farm for hayrides and pumpkin picking. And of course, he got to ride "the big bus."

Brennan commemorated the occasion by insisting he wear his very favorite orange shirt to school. I figure he's so cute that he even looks adorable in orange, but then, I may be a bit biased.

You are My Sunshine

I sing to the boys before bed. As they get older, we sing less and talk more, but Griffin still loves to sing songs with me as we snuggle up in bed. We sing through one of his favorites - "A Bushel and a Peck" and a few I have made up over the years, but we always end up singing "You are My Sunshine" as our last song before sleep.

Griffin sings softly along with me. We smile and giggle as we sing. Tonight we reached the verse in the song where you sing "so I hung my head and I cried."

I kept singing, but Griffin faltered. His smile wobbled, his eyes grew sad and he began to cry. His quiet tears turned into full blown sobs as he hugged me tight against him.

"Griffy - what's wrong?" I asked, perplexed, as I rubbed his back.

He gulped for air, brushed tears from his cheeks and cried, "I do cry Momma. I miss you when you go away, so I do cry. When you go away I get so sad. It hurts so I cry."

And then he sobbed all over again. I held him close to me and cried right along with him.

Finer Moments of Motherhood

After the snowflakes, the boys and I had a busy morning planned on Friday. First, we headed to Aidan's school to meet with his religion teacher. It was a special one on one meeting designed especially for me, the delinquent parent, for missing not one, but two, of the mandatory meetings to prepare our children for their first confession. I also missed the make up meeting. Yep, delinquent. And to a nun. Not just any nun, but the nun who taught me religion back in the day.

I should have been prepared for my very special make up meeting. But the snow excitement, a few work emails, and a skirmish over getting the boys dressed made us a bit late. So late that I forgot to brush the boys' hair. It was only as we raced into the school that I realized my sweater was on inside out.

I know. It's a miracle I make it through the day, isn't it. It's okay. I know.

I clutched my jacket close to my body. intent on hiding my sweater and quickly combed my fingers through the boys' hair. (And since you have seen Brennan's hair - you know that my hand comb job did no good. No good at all.)

We survived the meeting. (Although, I have a sneaking suspicion that the nun's intense discussion of the wonders of children attending church may have been brought on by our own lackluster church attendance record. And by lackluster - I mean no church attendance record.)

After leaving school, we rushed off to Wegmans to fill our very bare cupboards. I thought we made great time at our own grocery mecca as pulled up our overflowing grocery cart to the register line at 10:55 a.m., leaving us with more than enough time to get home to greet Aidan's bus at 11:30 am. (Yes, another half day. )

It should have been enough time. Definitely should have been. But I was struck by the curse of the SLOWEST grocery checker of all time. She scanned each item so deliberately, unbearably slow, and stopped every few seconds to glance at the store around her as if she was puzzled by her whereabouts. It was agonizing and I became paralyzed with fear as I contemplated that we might just not make it home in time.

We pulled out of the store parking lot at 11:25 and I was in full blown panic. I started repeatedly dialing family members in hopes of catching someone who could get to our house to get Aidan. I reached my Aunt Nancy who assured me she would drive to my house. I then called Chris, hysterical, to inform him that he had married the very worst person in the whole world to mother his children.

And then the bus garage called Chris on his other line. The bus garage called to tell him they were at our driveway and no one was home. My poor sweet boy was standing in our driveway waiting, just waiting, for anyone to come get him.

This was not one of my finer mothering moments.

Chris assured the bus garage that a family member was on their way and then clicked back to me, his hysterical wife, to convince me that Aidan would need not extended therapy to recover from this incident.

I calmed down as we got closer to our house. As I did, I realized that Brennan and Griffin had not said a word during the whole escapade. I asked them if they were okay and they both quietly said yes.

After a moment of silence, Brennan said softly, "Mommy?"

"Yes B?" I asked.

Brennan continued intently and quietly, "Mommy, I have to ask. I just have to ask. Now that they have him. The bus people? Now that they have him and we don't? Will they give him back to us mom? Can we get Aidan back?"

Great. I have not only scarred my seven year old, but my four year old too. Definitely not one of my better mothering days.

First Snow 2009

The boys were shrieking with glee at 6 am this morning. I rushed out of bed, annoyed at the noise and intent on making them all go back to bed, when I realized they were shouting that it was snowing.

Snowing. SNOWING!

The boys continued to jump up and down, giggling and laughing over the scattering of flakes dusting our yard. There was nothing to do at that point but to join in the laughter and try to forget it is still October. (and make a very large, very caffeinated pot of strong coffee.)

Aidan had to catch his bus to school, but as soon as Griffin and Brennan finished their breakfast they were donning their snow pants, parkas, boots and hats to get outside and soak up some snow. It must have been all of 7:35 am.




It had all melted away by noon, but the boys loved every second of our winter preview. I am happy to go back to fall, for a few more weeks at least.

Wild Hair Can't Be Tamed

This is how Brennan wakes up in the morning. His hair is beyond unruly. I have yet to figure out what he is up to at night that leads him to such spectacular bedhead. Until I do, I need some style solutions to tame this beast of a 'do.

Second Grade Open House

We attended Aidan's open house this evening. After visiting his classroom, admiring his desk and his artwork, he asked that we stop by his religion classroom. As we walked down the hall, he pointed out a poster he completed as an assignment for religion. He had to answer four different questions, designating a person who fulfills a certain trait to Aidan.

The first question:

"This person gives and spreads love to everyone around them:"

Aidan answered: "My mom."

Yeah, I don't remember any of the other questions. I was too busy blinking back tears and hugging Aidan tight.

I am so grateful he stills hugs me back just as tight as I hug him, even in a busy school hallway, crowded with people.

The Kids' Menu

As you get more experienced at this parenting gig, you definitely look at the years past and understand you would chose to do some things differently if you had the opportunity. One of the things I would do differently is the kids' menu we have been forced to serve at our house.

Aidan was not a huge eater as a baby. He loved to nurse. (He frequently nursed every two hours during the day as a baby! Yes, I never got to leave the house when he was an infant.) He loved his bottles. But food? He could have taken it or left it. I will never forget how excited Chris and I were to give Aidan his first taste of baby food. But surprisingly, his little face scrunched up with disappointment and severe distaste. He didn't love it. He ate because he had to, not because he loved to.

Aidan eventually got used to real food, but he did so with a severely picky appetite. He liked bland things - noodles with butter, bagels, plain crackers. As he grew up, he expanded his horizons slightly to include a few more foods, but more often than not they were kids' menu foods such as chicken fingers or pancakes. The day we discovered he liked meatballs was huge! Aidan's menu was so limited it often led to a great deal of frustration for all of us. And forget vegetables or fruits. He would eat raw carrots (when forced) and apples with all the skin cut off - that was it.

And then came Brennan. Brennan's first taste of baby food was a revelation. He was giddy as he threw back spoonful after spoonful of cereal, reveling in each taste. He liked anything and everything we gave him. It was an adventure for Chris and me to feed him. Brennan's favorite food at the age of one was blueberries. He would devour them by the fistful.

But as Brennan grew, he loved to emulate his big brother Aidan. If Aidan didn't like certain foods, then neither would Brennan. Slowly, our good little eater decided he too would only eat off the kids' menu. (Except for steak. He always loved steak.)

Our home had become a fast food restaurant. We would have two dinners - the adult dinner for Chris and me and the children's menu dinner for the boys. It was frustrating, but we accepted it.

Enter Griffin. Griffin loves anything and everything. He will try any food you give him, eager to taste anything different. He loves fruits and veggies and if given a choice, he would prefer to have an apple or a sliced tomato over anything else. Last week we met my mom for lunch and Griffin shared her salad, digging into her greens with enthusiasm.

This was a revelation to us. We have a child who doesn't require a separate menu. In fact, Griffin doesn't really like the foods on the traditional kids' menu. (He was thrilled when many of the kid friendly restaurants we frequent added grilled chicken to the menu.) All in all, Griffin prefers to eat what we eat. The possibilities for dinner became endless.

A few weeks ago, I decided I was done with the kids' menu. I was done running the kitchen like a restaurant, particularly on the days I returned home, harried from a long day of work and patching together dinner like I am a short order cook.

My experiment was not easy at first. It involved lots of tears (from Aidan) and whining (from Brennan) and even a couple of trips up to their rooms without dinner at all. Chris and I held firm. We endured the tears, tantrums and whining for days on end.

Dinner is now a family affair. Not only will they eat normal every day dinners like meatloaf, pasta with sauce and tacos. But, last week they licked their plates after a dinner of sliced steak with a peppercorn and pomegranate glaze (I know!) and last night they were beyond enthusiastic over shells stuffed with chicken and artichokes.

Dinner is not a battlefield in our home anymore. If I knew then what I know now, the kids' menu would have never had a chance in our house.

Nighttime

I played tennis last night until 7:30. I got home and the boys were already in bed, but still awake. I checked on them one by one to say good night.

When I entered Griffin's room, his face broke into a huge smile, he gasped and said, "It's morning?!" He bounced on his bed, eager to begin another day.

I explained it wasn't morning yet because he had to go to sleep first. He laid down with his head on his pillow, quickly closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Just as quickly, he opened up his eyes again and looked around as if the sun would shine through his curtains.

"It's morning!" He yelled.

I think the long days of winter, with little or no morning sunshine to herald the arrival of a new day are going to be hard for this child.

The Granite Chronicles

Two years ago, my aunt asked if Chris and I were interested in redoing our kitchen counter tops. We always thought we would redo them eventually, but were in no rush for an upgrade (or the cost of an upgrade!). But then she told us we could piggy back our order of fancy, pretty granite counter tops with an order being placed for a new hotel my family was opening. This would allow us to get new counter tops for about 90% off the retail price. 90%!!!

Suddenly, I really, really wanted new counter tops. I would have to be crazy not to NEED new counter tops at 90% off retail.

We hemmed and hawwed over samples and finally, picked out our new granite counter tops. It was done and I was very excited.

The granite comes over on a slow boat from China. I am not exaggerating. After many months, we receive word that our counter tops are here, in Buffalo, waiting for us to pick them up to deliver to our house from storage.

My excitement built as I fantasized about the installation of our new counter tops. But wait, there appears to be a problem. Granite is not only pretty, but it's pretty damn heavy too. And it is not something that you can just rent a truck from home depot to deliver. Oh no, granite needs a flat bed with a fork lift.

I was frustrated. I didn't even know I wanted new counter tops until the idea had been put into my head. And now, I wanted it done. I needed those counter tops. But our counter tops continued to languish in storage until we could figure out a way to get them delivered.

Another six months passes as we consider the delivery problem. (Okay, okay, Chris considers and I nag. This is our dynamic.)

Chris and I are out at a cocktail party one evening when a friend of my family's approaches Chris and says cryptically, "I hear you have a granite delivery problem."

Chris gives him an odd look and replies, "Yes, we do."

The friend nods, slaps Chris on the back, and says, "I know a guy who owes me a favor. Call me next week and we'll get it delivered."

Chris calls the friend who calls a friend who knows a guy with a flatbed and fork lift. The next thing I know we have a large crate of granite delivered to our driveway. It was so large it literally took up half of our driveway. (No, I have no idea why we are considered the white trash of our neighborhood. None at all. Our neighbors want new counter tops - they order them and have them installed stat. We get ours delivered from some guy and left in our driveway.)

After the granite is in our driveway, Chris realizes he needs help getting it into our garage. I mean, we live in a pretty nice neighborhood in whoville and all but we'd be crazy to leave a huge stack of granite piled up in our driveway ripe for the taking.

Chris recruits friends to come over on a Saturday morning to move the granite into the garage. Once it is unpacked and in the garage, we realize that a few pieces have broken. We also realize that the granite intended for the center island of our kitchen is much, much too short and way off on the measurements we sent to China.

Chris enters into negotiations with the Chinese granite people for new granite pieces. Another few months passes, until finally, he is successful and more granite is put on another slow boat from China. Meanwhile, the other granite pieces decorate our garage.

More months pass, and our new island counter top arrives. Chris recruits two friends to help him move the piece for the island from our garage to our kitchen and installs it himself. Oh, it's so pretty. It's looks lovely in our kitchen.

I promptly set about finding the perfect stools for our new kitchen island. I fell in love with the cutest stainless steel stools from Crate and Barrel. They were back ordered, but after two months, were delivered and practically gleam at their post.

But still, the rest of the granite continues to languish in our garage for month after month. I gently remind Chris that we need to get the granite installed. I recruit numbers from friends of people we could hire to do the granite installation, but months continue to pass without any new counter tops. (Our kids just got used to digging for their outside toys amidst many a stack of granite.)

Last month, I finally reached panic stages. I realized that at this rate we will not be able to use our garage this winter unless we move that granite out of the garage. And hello! We live in Buffalo! We need to use our garage! I have meltdown after meltdown until Chris assures me he is taking care of the installation.

A few weeks go by and Chris announces a friend knows a guy who knows a guy that can do the job. (Seriously.) Today is the big day! The old counter tops are set to be ripped out and the ones installed. I breathe a huge sigh of relief, content it is done. Finally, it is done.

Then Chris calls me at work.

"We may have a problem."

I shake my head furiously in denial. He continues, "The hole cut for the sink by the Chinese granite people is too big for a standard sink. We need to find a new sink and most likely special order it."

And the kicker? We can't go back to them for yet another new piece because almost two years has passed since the original order.

Be careful what you wish for. Be oh, so careful. I wished for new counter tops and I finally, after two years got them. But now, I have no sink. I have no dishwasher. I will be washing dishes in the laundry room for the next week or so while we wait for our new sink to arrive, specially ordered in the size we need.

I have no words.

Shopping for Orange

My cleaning of the closets led me to discover that Brennan had all of two pairs of pants that fit him. I do not normally clothes shop with the children. I prefer to do most of my shopping online or in brief bouts during lunch on my working days. But, fall is here and Brennan needs pants.

And that is how I came to go the mall on Friday with Brennan and Griffin. You haven't had fun until you have shopped with four year old and two year old boys.

My memories of shopping with the boys involves some form of stroller to harness them while I bribe them with a snack. It did not involve two children running wild through the mall with gleeful abandon.

Brennan decided that shopping for clothes meant he would have the opportunity to pick out the clothes he would like me to purchase. It was almost comical to see him wandering through the Gap picking out shirts and pants he liked. It was not comical to discover that he immediately vetoed any shirt that did not feature the blazing color of orange. If it didn't have orange, then he wasn't interested.

His fascination with orange also extended to my own clothes. I picked up a cute sweater and was considering an impulse buy when I turned to the boys to ask their opinion.

Brennan gazed at it thoughtfully, held the material between his hands and then said, "It'd look better in orange. Did you check if it comes in orange?"

Sigh. We made out okay. I managed to sneak in a few non-orange items of clothing. Now comes the hard part - convincing my strong willed four year old to wear them. Otherwise, my four year old is quickly going to look like a pumpkin or a hunter in training.